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LIFE AND TIME. 



BIETH-DAY MEMORIAL 



SEVENTY TEAES. 



MEMORIES AND REFLECTlOJs^S 



THE AGED AND THE YOUNG. 



BY 



ABSALOM PETERS, D.D. 



Born Septkmber 19, 1793. 



NEW YORK : 
SHELDON & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 
BOSTON: GOULD & LINCOLN. 
1866. 




Entered according to Act of Con<rress, in the year 1S65, 

By J. HUGH PETERS, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District C«»urt of the United States for the 

Sonthern District of Xew York. 



r. A. ALVOKD, STEREOTYPEU AND PKINTEIu 



A WORD OF APOLOGY. 



The appearance of tliis Poem will doubt- 
less be a surprise to others, as its production 
was to the writer. If it shall not be deemed 
preposterous for one to have commenced wil- 
ting in verse, at the age of threescore years 
and ten, my first apprehensions will be hap- 
pily relieved. But the occasion was inspiring ; 
I had leisure for reflection ; and though utterly 
unused to the production of poetry, I was 
conscious of the stir of poetical thoughts and 
imaginings. I felt assured, also, that my chil- 
dren, for whom alone I purposed to write a 
few lines, would forgive me this folly — if it 
should be so deemed — of an old man. 

The result was a poem, which I had not 
intended to write ; but, as the boy said, when 
reproved for whistling,- "It whistled itself!" 

" I lisp'd the numbers, for the Dumbers came." 



A WOKD OF APOLOGY. 



I read it to my family and a few friends^ on 
my seventieth birth-day, September 19, 1863, 
and by their affectionate approval and request, 
conceived the design of committing it to the 
press. Two years, however, I have hesitated — 
have delayed its publication, and, by occa- 
sional revisions, have perhaps improved its 
euphony and rhythm. 

Whatever may now be thought of my first 
essay at poetical writing, I cannot doubt that 
the memories, sentiments, and refl.ections here 
presented, will be grateful and cheering to 
others, as they have been and still are to 
myself Possibly they may be deemed by 
some a fitting Birth-Day or New- Year's Gift, 
from the aged to the young, or from the young 
to the old. That they may not be read m 
vain is the earnest wish of 

The Authoe. 

New York, Sept., 1865. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 

By Kay Palmer, D.D. 

To the personal friends of Dr. Peters, nothing 
apologetic need have been said in respect to the 
following pages. They have known him as 
filling prominent positions among the leading 
men of his time ; and rememlber with what abil- 
ity and practical tact he has written and 
wrought, in the various fields of Christian labor 
Avhich he has occupied. They will not fail to 
sympathize with the reminiscences and the per- 
sonal feelings here embodied. 

It may not be amiss, however, to say to others 
into whose hands it may come, that the vener- 
able author must not be supposed to offer this, 
his first, and probably his last poem, as a per- 
fect specimen of the Ars Poetica. He well 
understands that the power of writing poetry 
of a high order, even though craved by an in- 
born instinct, is only to be acquired by patient 
thought and effort. A first attempt, at any 



G IXTIIODUCTORY NOTE. 

period of life, must needs be imperfect. But as 
?ijeii d^ esprit^ suggested by a particular domes- 
tic celebration, and expressing the thoughts 
and feelings natural to a cheerful old man, in the 
review of an active and useful life, this poem 
will certainly be deemed, by thoughtful readers, 
a remarkable production. It is sensible, hearty, 
genuine. It has passages of real poetry, as well 
as sound philosophy ; and a poetic atmosphere 
is, to a good degree, thrown around the whole. 
To have made it, in the circumstances, artisti- 
cally faultless, would have been hardly less a 
miracle, than to have produced the Apollo Bel- 
videre at a first essay. It will be accepted, 
however, as very creditable to the genius of the 
author, and well worthy to be read. Tlie writer 
of these lines has himself read it — not as a critic 
— with pleasure and profit ; and hopes that many 
quiet years of healthful age may be granted to 
his honored friend and brother, before he shall 
sleep with his fathers. At least, let his sunset be 
serene and his morning without a cloud ! 

Albany, Sept. IGth, 18G5. 



CONTENTS. 



BIRTH-DAY MEMORIAL. 

PAGE 

A Life Sketch or Seyexty Years .... 9 

TriE Boon of Long Life 20 

The Last, the Best of the Ages . . . .25 

Ours, the Best of the Nations . . . . .29 

Fruits and Treasures of Life . . . . .30 

A Welcome to Old Age and Death . . . .32 

Desires Submitted ....... 34 

A Contrast of Life and Time . . . . .35 

Life at the Age of Threescore Years and Ten . 37 

To Children and Friends 44 

The True Vision of Time 46 



APPENDIX. 

ISToTEs, Explanatory and Biographical 
Death of a Daughter, Mrs. Mary E. Ward 
Address by Eey. Dr. Thompson . 
In Memoriam 



51 
73 

74 

78 



BIRTH-DAY MEMORIAL. 



A LIFE-SKETCH OF SEVENTY YEARS. 

Decades of years, agone ! agone ! 
The toils, the tears, the joys are done 1 
Agone the age assigned to men ! 
Evanished, threescore years and ten ! 

xAwake, O Genius ! laggard, late ! 
In hoary age, to vindicate 
The adage true of classic writ : 
^'Poeta nascltur^ non fity^ 

If such my birth, how long concealed ! 
Nor time nor change that birth revealed ; 
A busy life, of earnest prose, 
Had clipp' d the wings of thoughts that rose, 

* A poet is l)orn^ not made, 
1* 



10 BIETH-DAY MEMOEIAL. 

Till late, percliance tliis natal morn 

Shall wake to song a poet Tjorn — 

Long time ago — when parents smiled, 

On then a babe, in region wild, 

Where North New Hampshire snuffed the 

breeze — 
Boreal winds o'er Alpine trees — 
And yeomen hardy felled the AYOod, 
Raised flocks and herds where forests stood, 
Adotting vales and hills with fields. 
That grew the grain hard culture yields, 
Near Grafton's granite mountains high,^ 
Snow-capped in early autumn' s sky. 
And there, to-day, the hill-tops wave. 
Look down, and watch my mother's grave. 

Oh, wake to lays of life that groios^ 
AVhile time' s returnless river flows ! 
Though years agone Avere bare of rhyme, 
Old age may sing of Life and Time. 

Through changing seasons, moons and suns, 
So many years my memory runs, 

'^ Appendix A. 



A LIFE-SKETCH OF SEVEXTT YEA US. 11 

That dim in distance are the days 
Of early, childish thoughts and plays ; 
Hazy and indistinct they seem, 
As 'twere a long-remembered dream ; 
Though then, I trow, "the child" began 
To be the . " father of the man. ' ' 
But musings lofty of the boy, 
Sublime, and fraught with dread and joy, 
Live fresh in recollection now, 
Of whence, and where, by whom, and Iiow 
The world itself began to be « 
How creatures live, and think, and see ?— 
Creation vast, above, around, 
Unmeasured all, abyss profound ! — 
And dreamy plans of life were built, 
With boyish hope and fancy gilt, 
Minims of dreams of vagrant thought, 
So oft, in time, have come to naught. 

Those musings too were redolent 
Of young resolves, of high intent, 
Which stir of martial life inspires, * 
In sons of patriotic sires. 

* Appendix B. 



12 BIRTH-DAY MEMORIAL. 

For tlien the nation too was young, 
From old oppressions bravely wrung ; 
Then lived the heroes of the war, 
AVho laid, for ages thence afar. 
On vast Columbia' s land and main. 
The corner-stone of Freedom's reign. 
And, though a child — six summers sped — 
I well recall, my father said. 
With tears of manly sorrow shed : — 
" Sad tidings ! — Washington"^ is dead I" 

We wept ; the nation mourned his end. 
As nation ne'er had mourned a friend. 
But Freedom lived — the nation's pride — 
A moulding power — my joy and guide. 

Thence onward came increase of knowledge ; 
The home, the farm, the school, the college, f 
To tone the life, the mind to frame. 
And discipline, to manly aim, 
The skill and power to do and know. 
As culture causes plants to groAV — 
My early aspirations high. 
The brilliant paths of life to try, 

* Appendix C. t Appendix D. 



A LIFE-SKETCH OF SEVENTY YEARS. I'J 

Till— wroiight by grace, a change of heart— 
My choice became the better part. 

Fit education then was sought, 
To realize my master-thought ; 
With months of teaching— scholar' s aid,* 
By which a self-support was made— 
In years of study, craved by all, 
Who ponder well the pulpit's call. 



[My thoughts run back, to sketch again and 

fix. 
In mem'ry dear, those years, a score and six. 
Spent all in preparation, slow and sure. 
Till grew the child a man, adult, mature. 
To grapple with the high demands of life, 
Put full- wrought armor on, and breast the strife. 
Concurrent thus, my life's young crescent 

rills— 
Their bubbling springs on bleak New England 

hills— 
Meand'ring thence, from hill to vale, unite, 
To form the river-flow of manly miglit ; 

* Appendix E. 



14 BIRTII-DAY MEMORIAL. 

Or twigs were bent, f incline the groAving tree, 
As love forecast tlie man, the child should be. 

The mother s tender care, the sister' s smile. 
With nameless gentle kindnesses the while ; 
The father' s thoughtful AYord, his stern command ; 
The brother' s genial, ready, helping hand, 
Combined to stay the sweryings of my youth ; 
And so, with home-bred industry and truth — 
A lithe physique, by farm-work rendered 

strong — 
Fit body for the mind — enduring long — 
To siiape the boy, by teachings new and old. 
To manhood's high behests, and virtue's mould. 

The school-room adds an impulse fresh and 
new — 
The impetus of many there, or few — 
To win respect, the prize of merit take, 
And seek improvement for improvement' s sake. 

Then classic schools and college halls succeed, 
T' expand the sphere, and deep impress the need 
Of larger learning, as the helm of power. 
Which high ambition seeks, the coming hour. 
Competing class-mates join the honored strife, 
And friendships there are formed that last for life, 



A LIFE-SKETCH OF SEVENTY YEAKS. 15 

Recast or modify tlie social state, 

And early tell on life's success, and late. 

And oft life's calls and ends are pondered there— 

The field, the world— and each must take his 

share ; 
AVhile some there are, who consecrate to God 
Their knowledge all, and all their power of good. 
With such, through grace, I raised my lium- 
ble voice, 
And sought instruction suited to my choice 
In higher schools of sacred, learned lore. 
And shaped to use the manhood gained l)efore.] 



Then came the years of past'ral care,^ 
To preach the Avord, and nothing spare, 
Of counsel wise, o'er human ken, 
To win to Christ the souls of men ; 
To feed the flock, tlie lambs to feed. 
Dispensing grace for all their need, 
And bearing on my heart the prayer, 
That all who lived and wandered tliere, 

* A[)|)endix F. 



16 BIKTII-DAY MEMORIAL. 

By love constrained no more to stra3^ 
Might learn the Truth, the Life, the Way. 
Withal my ardent zeal was high — 
The thousand promised years anigh — 
In all the dwellings of the race. 
To spread the health of truth and grace. ^ 

The pasf ral care suspended then, 
To meet the larger claims of men, 
Came years of preparation yast,t 
To plant at home, deep down and fast. 
In Christian institutions blest, 
From north to south, from east to west. 
The heart-grown root of piety. 
The nation righteous, people free, 
Nor dashed nor scourged by venging rod, 
Constrained to love, by love of God. 

Of conflict,:}: years, and years of peace. 
Years all of hope, of large increase. 
Ripe fruit appearing, and anon 
It shook, like fields of Lebanon. 

* Appendix G. t Appendix Ih I Appendix I. 



A LIFE-SKETCH OF SEVE:N^TY YEAIIS. 17 

Then jears of editorial toil , * 
Recording, from the world's turmoil, 
Instructions learned, true, and sage, ' 
To guide the young, the coming age— 
My tongue employed, my counsel souglit, 

Wliere " sons of prophets" still are tauglit— 

Till— more than half a century gone— 

Again the harness girded on— 

"Twas mine to guide another flock, f 

A decade more, to Christ the Eock ; 

To preach the word, to watch for souls. 

Where village homes and college rolls 

Supplied a congregation j-are. 

To tax the Pastor's skill and care. 

And then, when life was .waxing old. 
And threescore years and one were told, 
Monitions gentle Avarned my fears 
Of waning strength for coming years ; 
And other duties still engage 
Tlie failing powers of growing age. 

And not alone, in toil and care, 
My manhood all, but, everywhere, 

* Appendix' J. t Appendix K. 



18 BIKTII DAY MEMORIAL. 

Were mingled in with pen and preacliiiig, 
Pervading all, and all o' erreaching. 
The years of wedded life and love — '^ 
The best of earth, the charm thereof — 
Till rounding out the forty-fourth, 
Of years prolonged, of double worth. 

Of proud paternity, the years. 
With joyful hopes, and cares, and fears— 
Which only loving hearts can feel — 
Changed oft by children's woe and weal. 

And tearful sadness long was felt. 
As, mourning for the lost, we knelt — 
Sweet infants raised from earthly love,t 
On angel- wings, to bliss above — 
And Avorshipped God with living ones. 
Surviving daughters dear and sons. 
Who claimed the love of stricken hearts. 
And, as by thousand winning arts. 
Awaked anew our joy in theirs, 
Returning duties for our cares. 
Till, onward borne, by grace and truth. 
O'er all the ebbs and flows of youth, 

* Appendix L. j Appendix M. 



A LIFE-SKETCH OF SEVENTY YEARS. 19 

With US they stand, as peers and mates, 

Companions, equals, duplicates ; 

Mature in life's full vigor they, 
We, failing piecemeal by decay. 
We're changing places now ; as erst 

They leaned on us, were fed and nursed. 

So now we lean on them, and feel 

Their loving, helping liand, and leal. 

They lead the van, we lag in rear, 

With children's children, loved and dear ; 

In circles new their happy homes. 

And the.y, for us, the heads of domes. 
Mutations strange these years have wrought, 

And time and Providence have brought 
Young babes to manhood, parents down. 
From manhood's pride and stately crown. 
To decadence, the setting sun 
Of life-work here so nearly done. 
The shading of the day to even 
Foretokens near the dawn of heaven. 



20 BIRTII-DAY MEMOKIAL. 



THE BOON OF LONG LIFE. 

What now, to me, these by-gone years, 
AVitli all their changes, joys, and tears ? 
So much of life, so much of time, 
To fit my ransomed soul to climb, 
Where, poised, iu rapture, on the wing. 
Ten thousand times ten thousand sing ! 
Yet life and time are not the same ; 
Nor shall they equal honors claim. 
Though side by side, and both my friends, 
The one remains, the other ends. 

Time's riches all, an empty show. 
The Preacher Avise hath said ; and so 
The years to me, Avere I a mute, 
A senseless, dumb, and thoughtless brute- 
Of all the past, no good in mind- 
To all the teeming future, blind. 
But past and future joined in one, 
Life's grand design still moving on. 
Fruit stored in menr ry from the past, 
The faitli of future Avaxing ftvst, 



THE BOON OF LOJN"G LIFE. 21 

The quickening power of endless life 

Upbearing us in toil and strife— 

'Tis snre a blessing tliiis to live, 

A boon wliich God alone could give. 
And life prolonged is greater boon. 

As morning briglit'ning up to noon ; 

Each passing year the life advancing 

Still ever onward, and enhancing 

The worth of every help and aid 

By which a lofty life is made ; 

Til], by the using, wasted fast, 

'Tis laid aside, worn out and past. 
But lives its influence evermore ; 
And years succeed, as years before, 
The fruits of later toils to yield, 
On life's expanded harvest-field. 
By grace laid up, in heav'nly store. 
Till years and time shall never more 
Claim part in life's possessions there, 
N^or changing seasons have a share ; 
But life immortal, quenchless light. 
In one supernal day— no night ; 
And, ceasing suns and worlds to roll, 
Shall perfect joy and crown the soul. 



22 BIRTH-DAY MEMOTIIAL. 

Long years are wisdom's price for good, 
To be exchanged for spirit-food 
Of life divine ; nor can he made 
The purchase wise, till all "be paid, 
To ''buy the truth and sell it not." 
The worth of years is simply wiiat 
They bring of wisdom to our minds, 
Great pearl of wealth to him who finds. 

'Tis then vast good to have survived. 
So many years, to have outlived 
An age, twice told, of living men, 
Who, in my time, on earth have been — 
To graves agone— while life, \vith me. 
Alert and buoyant, strong and free. 
Of sickness little knows, or pain, 
Nor troubles e'er have broke the reign 
Of trust in God and cheerful mind ; 
Though crosses oft of plans, I find. 
Have turned the lines of life and lot, 
And shades have darkened o'er the plot 
Of visions bright, of life's vain dreams. 
Obscuring oft their shining beams ; 
And sins unnumbered I deplore, 
Jhat haunt my pathway evermore. 



THE BOOX OF LONG LIFE. 23 

Kor strangers knoAV, nor I reveal, 
Those secret griefs tlie lieart must feel, 
When loving care has failed to win 
A dear one from the paths of sin — 
How sorrow sore is thus incurred, 
The heart made sick by ''hope deferred/- 



But few the troubles, clouds but few, 
And hope renewed was ever new ; 
Crushed often, but to rise again. 
And buoy the spirit up ; and then. 
One hope, to reach within the vail, 
And pierce to light which cannot fail, 
Has life to me made life to love. 
So much, so very far above 
Afflictions all, and all its losses. 
Reverses dark, and grievous crosses, 
That, in the bright sunlight of hope. 
All forms of ill are swallowed up. 
I name them not, nor dare deplore 
My poverty of earthly store. 
Since higher ends have been attained, 
In better riches, sought and gained. 



24 BIRTII-DAY MEMORIAL. 

Sin all forgiven, 'tis only good. 
That, by the grace of God, I've stood, 
And toiled for life, and not in yain, 
The noblest ends of life to gain. 
With heart and hand, and tongue and pen, 
These vanished years, threescore and ten. 

It is, indeed, a good unmeasured. 
That I have thus enjoyed and treasured — 
The thoughts and loves of pleasant places. 
Of happy homes and smiling faces ; 
IS'or less, that I have borne a part 
With mourners oft — the stricken heart — 
And sought for them a sweet relief, 
From Him who giveth praise for grief; 
Have Avrought for God in larger spheres, 
And reaped rewards of joy for tears ; 
Have had a share in movements great. 
For light and truth in Church and State ; 
For knowledge and the rule of right ; 
For grace to reign, in place of miglit ; 
Have studied long- high nature's laws. 
In much that is, shall be, and was ; 
Have breathed the air, have seen the sun. 
And earth, in gorgeous beauty run. 



THE LAST, THE BEST OF THE AGES. 25 



In cycles grand, through mighty changes ; 
And things alive, in world-Avide ranges, 
Flora and Fauna, bird and bee. 
The life that swims in lake and sea. 
And creeping things, forever teeming, 
All dying, and yet ever seeming 
To reproduce themselves in kind, 
That life, in time, no end should find ; 
Nor life's mutations find an end, 
Till man alone in bliss ascend. 
From time and cliange, afar away. 
From nether to supernal day. 

THE LAST, THE BEST OF THE AGES. 

Nor would I fail to raise, and add 

A note of praise, for being had. 

So high aloft, upon the stage 

Of earth and time' s progressive age ; 

Made all of ages gone, of man, 

B}^ lapse of years, since time began. 

'Twere good to have foundations laid. 
Near dawn of time, when earth was made, 

2 



26 BIRTH-DAY MEMOKIAL. 

And sliouteci morning stars their joy ; 
But better, life, and life' s employ, 
When holy Prophets spake and sang ; 
And better still, when heaven rang 
With songs of angels, heard on earth, 
Proclaiming man s Redeemer's birth. 

But best of all the ages past. 
Is that, the highest, and the last ; 
The building rising, stone on stone — 
Man s Avork thereon will soon be done — 
The top-stone high, brought forth, thereof. 
And shouts from earth, and all above, 
Of ''Grace unto it'' — grace — shall roll 
From east to west, from pole to pole ! 

To such a consummation nigh. 
Men here below, and powers on high, 
Are hastening on events of time ; 
And systems vast, of sin and crime, 
Are yielding to the march of God, 
With mercy' s sceptre and the rod 
Subduing nations to His reign, 
Revolted realms to peace again. 
Old pagan idols, near and far,- 
Are dashed and dead, in holy war : 



THE LAST, THE BEST OF THE AGES. 27 

They rise no more, Avhere Gospel light 
O'erdawns the shadows of the night ; 
And thrones and dynasties effete, 
That grind the poor, exalt the great, 
And papal powers, one and all. 
Are crumbling to their final fall. 



Of these, dark ages was the day ; 
But governments of milder sway, 
Of wiser and more just devising, 
On these demolished ruins rising. 
Ease now the bonds of old oppressions. 
And offer new and large concessions 
To human rights, and conscience free, 
To work for man's high destiny. 

And nature' s forces, erst occult, 
Arcana hid, without result. 
Or sleeping aye since time began, 
Or working there, unseen by man, 
In nature's lab'ratory deep, 
AVhere nature's lai^s her secrets keep ; 
Or partly known, but unexplored — 
Their use, in practice, all ignored — 



28 BIRTH DAY MEMORIAL. 

Abiding time, have come to light ; 
And brain and genius, wisdom's might, 
Inventions apt, and skill, and art. 
Have grandly now unlocked, in part. 
Of nature's secrets hid, the powers, 
Have touched the key and made them ours— 
Ours all, to work for human weal- 
Affix' d, to science deep, the seal 
Of consecration high, and worth, 
Handmaid of truth and right on earth. 

Mad lightning harnessed, steam compressed, 
Obey, and work for man' s behest ; 
And wit and skill, applied to these 
And other forces, wrought with ease, 
AVitli combinations strange and new — 
The work of many done by few — 
Have multiplied the arts of man. 
The ocean and the earth to scan ; 
To give to life a wider scope. 
To states and nations higher hope ; 
And such is now the rush of thought, 
Of grand achievements, quickly wrought, 
That days of time seem years agone, 
And many ages lived in one. 



OUKS THE BEST OF THE NATIONS. 29 



OURS THE BEST OF THE NATIONS. 

And, last among the nations blest, 
By grace the greatest and the best. 
The land of freedom and the brave. 
From eastern shore to western wave. 
Has been my home, these seventy years ; 
]N"or, yielding yet high hopes to fears, 
Do we forget our fathers' God, 
Or spare the treasure or the blood 
Demanded in the nation's cause. 
Her union, liberty, and laws. 

By viper stung, self-born within. 
Corruption breathing, giant sin ; 
But still the nation' s heart is brave, 
The nation' s arm high nerved to save 
Her cherished blessings from the blight 
Of treason' s grasp in deadly fight, 
And wipe forever from the fame 
Of freedom' s equity the name, 
The foul reproach, the damning blot. 
Of forcing bondage, as tlie lot 



30 BIRTH-DAY 3IEM0EIAL. 

Of souls of men created free, 
And made for immortality ! 

As God is true, tliat crime sliall cease. 
Then justice, righteousness, and peace, 
AVith union firm, shall bless the land ; 
Defended then by His right hand 
' Gainst crimes within and foes afar, 
A bright, serene, and guiding star — 
Star of the progress of the world, 
Till Freedom's banner, high unfurled 
O'er ev'ry land, on ev'ry sea. 
Shall wave o'er all the nations free ; 
''The golden rule" the earth shall span, 
And man, the peer of ey'ry man — 
Oppression haying found an end — 
Shall lind in ev'ry man a friend. 



FRUITS AND TREASURES OF LIFE. 

Such visions years repeat to me ; 
And more than eye hath seen, I see. 
By grace revealed, of life to come, 
Of happy spirits, at their home. 



FRUITS AND TKEASUKES OF LIFE. 31 

In humble part, to swell that throng, 
Life, healthful thus to me, and long — 
No merit claiming, as my own. 
But naming what my Lord hath done — 
Has not, I trust, been spent in vain. 
For others' good ; and so to gain. 
In congregations, served and loved. 
And fields of missions, sought and proved, 
For men redeemed, of each degree — 
The high, the low, the bond, the free. 
All things in Christ — the grace, the rod — 
And they, with Christ, joint-heirs of God. 

So mine the blessing, not unshared, 
Nor mine alone the great reward ; 
But others take, in gracious measures, 
The living fruit — and rich the treasures. 
Which all the elements possess 
Of man' s immortal blessedness. 
By mercy great of God, the giver, 
I share it all with them forever, 
And hail the day when I may say : 
Here, Lord, am I, and here are they, 
The children dear which thou hast given, 
By grace renewed, and raised to heaven. 



32 EirwTll-DAY MEMOIUAL. 



A WELCOME TO OLD AGE AND DEATH. 

What other years may be in store, 
To waft me to the '' shining shore," 
I cannot guess. I only trow, 
That years, if given, "will come and go, 
As years have ever done before ; 
But dew of youth will never more 
Return to me. Old age instead, 
The trembling hand, the hoary head— 
The eye bedimmed, and deaf the ear- 
Shall mark each coming added year. 

Hard sickness, pain, perchance, and sorrow, 
May come in troops upon the morrow. 
And ling' ring years may feel the scourge ; 
Or days, instead of years, may urge 
My life to sudden close ; and then 
ril Avelcome death, the lot of men. 
But days or years, the more or few, 
Shall Avelcomed be, Avith praises new. 
If such there be reserved for me. 
Welcome thy years, senility ! 



A WELCOME TO OLD AGE AXD DEATH. 33 

Not that decrepitude and pain 
Are welcome, as themselves a gain — 
'Tis not in man to welcome these — 
But, if God order so, and please, 
We suffer pain for greater good ; 
The benefaction understood, 
We welcome sorrow, or its cause, 
As but, in happiness, a pause 
For strength. So painful years are given 
As aids and stepping-stones to heaven. 

But gentler discipline may prove 
The kindness of the Father's love ; 
And, saved the pain, I'll not despair 
Of years to come, serene and fair — 
''A green old age," in wisdom's ways- 
Cheerful and calm, those coming days. 
From mid-life's anxious cares at rest. 
Of all my years, the last, the best. 

Nor would I live, in time, a day 
Beyond my usefulness, or stay, 
The wreck of all that I have been, 
To meet, in clouds, earth's closing scene ; 
Though then, upon the soul, no less 
Miglit beam tlie Sun of Rii^hteousness. 



34 BIUTII-DAY MEMOniAL. 

But, done with earth, its fece oVrcast, 
IS or eye, nor ear, nor touch, nor taste, 
For pleasure or for service here, 
I'd rather leave the loved and dear 
Of earth and time, and rise in flight 
From clouds below to heavenh^ light. 



DESIRES SUBMITTED. 

Be such my lot, if God shall choose, 
Nor let me, living, miss or lose 
My long-loved liopes and props in life — ■ 
Sons, daughters all, and loving wife. 
Who shared the joys and toils of youth. 
With kindness, gentleness, and truth ; 
My children' s mother, dearest friend, 
Till earthly toils and joys sliall end. 
And then we'll be with angels bright, 
AYhere dearer tie than nuptial rite 
Shall hold us one with all the blest, 
In higher, purer, love and rest. 

But if, with grief and trembling tread, 
l\Iv lot shall be to mourn the dead. 



A COIS^TRAST OF LIFE AND TIME. 35 

Or, Avorse than death, of ills the chief, 
My heart be wrung with sorer grief, 
ril meet the wreck of life or love, 
With faith and hope made fast above, 
And crave one joy, in mercy given, 
With less of earth, and more of heaven, 
Calm, peaceful, and contented still, 
To suffer God's most holy will. 
That will be done, whate' er betide 
My earthly hopes, or earthly pride. 



A CONTRAST OF LIFE AND TIME. 

So life has been, from day of birth, 
And shall be, to my ''last of earth," 
A gift of God, and rich forever ; 
A worthy boon of Him, the giver. 

If life were time, 'twould waste away. 
Be less to-morrow than to-day ; 
But life renewed is life eternal, 
And not, as time and years, diurnal. 
But ever onward, upward growing, 
By seeing, having, treasuring, knowing ; 



36 Biirrn-DAY memorial. 

[ts Avealtli immense, the spoils of years. 
Laid up, for use, above the splieres. 

'Tis not, then, life that Avastes, decays. 
By lapse of time, and flight of days. 
Life still remains, a conscious being ; 
And, more than present hearing, seeing. 
It holds, in memory, all the past. 
And holds, in faith, the future vast. 
Of onward life ; the living soul, 
One ever, conscious of the whole. 

So present, future, past combine. 
To make man's life progressive shine. 
And brighter, clearer still the light. 
Of truth more known, and seen, as sight 
Invades the held of faith, that peers 
Tlirough mists and shades of coming years. 
And measnres being^s ceaseless round, 
Afar beyond time's utmost bound. 

So life to me, a living soul, 
Is present, constant, deathless whole. 
I' ve had it all my years agone, 
I have it noAV, 'tis all my own. 



LIFK AT TIIKEESCOKE YEARS AND TEN. 87 

And sliall be, all my years to come ; 
And then, when God shall call me home, 
The self-same life shall all be mine ; 
In death the same, with no decline ; 
And mine, with larger scope and joy. 
In heavenly rest and high employ ; 
Mine, laden with the fruits of years, 
In store beyond the blight of tears. 



LIFE AT THE AGE OF THREESCOKE YEARS 
AND TEN. 

Conscious of such a life to-day, 
My thoughts run backward, and away. 
Onward afar, in realms of rest. 
With all the pardoned and the blest. 

Backward, I live a transient space, 
To whence my life began its race ; 
And time before yields life to me, 
By ages read of history. 

But since my temporal life began, 
The seventy years, how brief a span 



38 BIRTH-BAY MEMOPaAL. 

Of ages past ! And oh, how small, 

Of man's uncounted millions all, 

The number I have seen and known ! 

Seen, all the rest, by God alone. 

They had their time before my birth, 

Or lived, beyond my goings forth, 

In other longitudes and zones, 

Where eartli a human foot-print owns, 

Or nations great have had their day. 

Have thronged, and changed, and passed away 

These all to me have strangers been ; 
Have lived, by me, unknown, unseen. 
And though the circle of my age- 
Well known to me— has on its page 
Of time' s account made high its mark, 
Yet gone to graves, alone and dark, 
Are most of all I loved in youth. 
The old, when I was young, in sootli. 
Revered and patriarchal men. 
And matrons kind, all living then ; 
And parents dear have, long ago. 
Departed hence, to see and know 
The bliss above ; and old, or dead. 
Are all the loved, who erst have sped 



LIFE AT THIIEESCOHE YEARS A:^^D TEN. 39 

Their ages synclironal with mine. 
Bright stars have set that used to chine ; 
Dear brothers, sisters, friends agone, 
Till few remain ; and rarely one. 
Of all the livings human race. 
Presents a long-familiar feice. 

The moving throngs, by boat and car. 
The squadrons hastening to the war, 
The crowds at rural, gay retreats. 
In marts of business, or in streets 
Of bustling city trade and show. 
Where restless millions come and go. 
With hosts of idlers, poor and vain, 
And thousands toiling hard for gain ; 
Thronged churches and conventions grave. 
Lost souls or commonwealths to save ; 
And men in all the walks of life^ 
Their competitions keen and rife — 
Of human kind, the surging tide. 
The shady and the sunny side ; 
Save here and there an old man gray, 
And oft the young, politely say 
Kind words to aged men, I see — 
Else all, alas ! were strange to me ! 



40 BIRTH-DAY MEMOKTAL. 

I knoAV them, true, as fellow-men, 
To man's high future born, I ken. 
But not of mine, a later race, 
Hard following after mine apace ; 
Installed in places others held. 
They walk the paths of men of eld. 

Perchance your fathers well I knew. 
Two generations gone ; but you ! 
AVhence have you come 1 and whither bound ? 
Borne on the Avhirling world around ! 
A wilderness of men ! Some, leaves 
Alone abearing ; others, sheaves 
Of grain, from seed once soAvn Avith tears. 
The gathered Avealth of toilsome years ; 
And noAv they shout ''the harvest hom(\'' 
Of generations then to come. 

Xor yet are these all strangers quite. 
Old names beloA^ed I used to Avrite, 
Of genial early friends, and true. 
Or aged sires, in youth I kneAv, 
Borne erst by sons, and noAV by theirs — 
Of fathers' virtues Avorthy heirs — 
ReneAV my memory of the past, 
And link my best affections fast, 



LIFE AT THKEESCORE YEAKS AND TEN. 41 

To living men and blooming youth. 
Unknown or known, these all, in truth— 
The friends of friends, till death my own- 
Are now my life, ''my joy and crown." 

I live in them, as sire in son, 
And joy in all their doings, done 
For man's advancement, and the praise 
Of Him who giveth length of days. 
Nor would I fail to sympathize 
In all that's good, and just, and wise, 
Though wrought by younger lives than mine. 
Increasing they as I decline. 

The lights of Church, and lights of State, 
Arising now, or risen of late. 
Shine forth o'er larger, wider spheres, 
Than lights agone, of former years. 
The world-wide field, made clearer now, 
Invites the sower forth to sow ; 
The nation, greater now than then. 
The crisis more intense, as when 
Disease, at point of death or cure. 
The patient's trembling life t' insure. 
Demands physician's greatest skill : 
Incompetence, neglect, would kill. 



42 BIRTII-DAY MEMOr.IAL. 

So now, the nation's mighty throes. 
With deep distress for threatened woes, 
In judgment for its crimes, demand 
Of ev'ry head, and heart, and hand. 
The skill of all the wise and true. 
And all the work that man can do. 
With hnmble confidence and trust 
In God, the patron of the just. 

The fathers' God, the God of sons. 
Holds in His hands His chosen ones ; 
And signs of gracious help appear. 
Signs of our Heavenly Father' s care. 
In giving, to the people's choice, 
A Ruler chief whom ev'ry voice 
Proclaims God-fearing, honest, true ;^^ 
With men in places high, anew. 
In council wise, in battle brave, 
To breast the storm, to ride the wave ; 
The soldier's arm, on tented field, 
The nation' s mighty power to wield ; 

* It must be remembered that this was written September, 
1863, in tlie midst of the great war of the Union, and of the 
Administration of President Lincohi. 



LIF.^ AT THREESCORE YEARS AXD TEX. 43 

With holy gifts of precious blood, 

To gain the nation' s greatest good ; 

Her consecration, evermore, 

To those high aims that early bore 

Her Pilgrim Fathers o'er the main, 

And later fathers still, to gain, ^ 

In days of Washington' s renown, 

The triumph, victory, the crown 

Of freedom's reign in righteousness — 

The world' s high hope — mankind to bless. 



This all is lingering life to me ; 
I live in all the brave and free ; 
^ov less in those who suifer wrong. 
The weak, in bondage to the strong. 
Still in the nation' s faith I share, 
And pray the nation' s ardent prayer. 
Praise God on high for battles Avon, 
And mourn the dead, as if my own ; 
And warm my fellowship with all 
Who preach or pray, or stand or fall. 
In service of the Piince of Peace, 
Whose kingdom vast shall e'er increase, 



44 BIRTH-DAY MEMOEIAL. 

Tliougli nations scourged, and battles fought, 

And all the carnage wars have wrought. 

Be called in wrath, to clear the way 

For that auspicious, coming day, 

When Avars shall cease, and earth be free — 

Man's universal jubilee. 



TO CHILDREN AND FRIENDS. 

Nor do I now with sadness view 
Those putting harness on anew, 
Which I am putting off. Nor sad 
To me the wreck, or good or bad. 
Of all that I have ever had 
Of time agone, with tears or glad. 
I yield it all to God, the giver, 
With thanks, that soon my life, forever, 
Will take no note of time, or loss — 
The crown then given above the cross. 

But younger lives, most dear to me. 
Still on the tide of time, shall see 
More perfect good than I have seen ; 
In years more blest than I have been. 



TO CHILDREN AND FRIENDS. 45 

Take, then, thy years, my child, my frieiid, 

In number such as God shall send ; 

Garner their fruits, and let them fly ; 

Or few, or more^ their end is nigh ; 

But life, which dying years shall cherish, 

If grace be given, shall never perish. 

The life is more than years untold, 

Far better wise to be, than old. 
Be life, not years, our chief concern ; 

Then years will bring us, in return, 

Rich gifts of grace, to life below. 

And bright the world to which we go ; 
Where life, the same that years hav^ left. 
Of earthly home and friends bereft, 
Will crown the joys, begun on eai^th, 
With boundless bliss, of heavenly birth. 

There, Avith the good of all the ages, 
Names bright, on time's recorded pages ; 
United there in dearer ties 
Than ever friends or families 
On earth have known, and on the wing, 
We'll worship God, and rise, and sing. 
With seraphs high, the song of songs. 
In music strange to mortal tongues, 



46 BIRTII-DAY MEMORIAL. 

And vyelcome there our loved of time. 
By one, and one, to bliss and clime, 
Balmy and bright, of angel's joy, 
Forever pure, without alloy. 



THE TRITE VISION OF TIME. 

Nor time, with yon, a point of stay ; 
Point whence to rise, in changeless day : 
Nor yet beginning of an end ; 
Life thus begun shall ever tend 
Away from time, nor cease to be 
An endless^ joyous entity. 
And, seen from that vast life away, 
An age of time will seem a day, 
A point, at which that life begun 
Its ceaseless cycles grand to run. 

Nor this a dream. To God appears 
One day of time as thousand years, 
And thousand years as one brief day : 
And faith accepts. Then who shall say, 
God' s vision vast, of time, is wrong. 
And ours the gauge of ages long ? 



THE TRUE VISION^ OF TIME. 

Inborn to life, in midst of time, 
We ride some rolling wave sublime, 
Till dies that AYaye upon tlie shore • 
Tlien time to ns is never more ; 
* And none can all its measure know 
Till waves of time have ceased to flow. 

'Tis boundless to our vision here. 
So vast is time, and yet so near ; 
As, near the side of mountain high. 
In vain the pupil of the eye 
Expands itself to comprehend, 
From top to base, from end to end, 
The vast dimensions, circling lines. 
Which distant sight evolves, defines. 
And brings the Alpine shape to view. 
In lines of beauty, grand and new ! 

Of time, we never see the whole ; 
Parts only to our vision roll. 
So time is here a running river ; 
But seen its source and ending never. 
So time appears a surging ocean ; 
While on its waves we feel its motion, 



48 BIRTII-DAY ME:\rOTUAL. 

As ship at sea, witli pennant high, 
But shore or bound' ry never spy. 
So, on revolving world, we ride. 
And never see the other side. 

But lift ns np, where God resides, 
AVhere life immortal e'er abides. 
And let ns gaze on time afar. 
As now we see a fixed star ; 
How, thence, will distant time appear— 
An age, a century, a year ? 

Millions of measures of the earth. 
That far-off star revolves, shines forth, 
Defined, and bounded to the sight, 
A twinkling point in vault of night ; 
Till day returns, Avith change of viev\^, 
And stars are lost in azure blue. 

So, seen from all above, appears 
A day, an age, a thousand years ; 
Cycles and centuries, the same, 
Time' s measure all — measureless name- 
A point, a dot, in boundless space, 
Where living men, a sinful race, 
All have their day, as we have had ; 



THE TRUE TlftlOX OF TIME. 49 

And Christ revealed, with tidings glad, 
Has wroiiglit a mj'stery profound, 
^Vhich angels' wisdom cannot sound ; 
High heaven peopling from the earth, 
By souls renewed— a gracious birth- 
Myriads of spirits passing on, 
Where erst the righteous all have gone ; 
Yet all in time, a point so small, 
As seen from life eternal, all, 
It counts as nothing, on the score 
Of man's enjoyment evermore. 

Then let our ages pass away, 
Labor for daily bread, and pray ; 
'Tis worth the toil, the pains, the care. 
Tile diligence, the daily prayer. 
Which yield for man a good estate. 
Time's short necessities to meet ; 
And, for dependants and the poor. 
To lay aside convenient store. 
But treasure, stored for greatness' sake, 
Is mark of folly, vain and weak. 
Evanished soon the gain, the pelf. 
Time's greatness all, and time itself. 



50 BIRTH-DAY MEMORIAL. 

AVill dwindle to a point afar, 
As now appears that distant star ; 
Or, merged in life, be lost to sight, 
As stars occult in morning light. 



APPENDIX. 

The following notes seemed necessary properly to explain 
the passages to which they refer. They are appended solely 
for this purpose, and with no design to give an autobiography 
of the author. It is presumed they will be acceptable to such 
readers as may be curious to know the precise meaning of 
the allusions referred to in the poem. 

NOTE A, Page 10. 

*' Near Grafton's granite mountains high." 

Grafton, in Northern New Hampshire, is my native county. 
My father. General Absalom Peters, became a resident there 
when that part of the State was comparatively new and wild. 
He was a native of Hebron, Connecticut, and a graduate of 
Dartmouth College in 1780. On leaving college, he was im- 
mediately engaged in the closing struggles of the War of 
Independence; was captain in the Revolutionary Army, and 
aide to Major-General Bailey, in command of the northern 
frontiers of New Hampshire, and of the territory which is now 
the State of Vermont. The military experience here acquired 
prepared him to take a leading part in organizing the militia 
of the State, where he soon rose to the rank of brigadier-gen- 
eral, which, after a few years, he resigned. He was also sev- 
eral years a member of the State Legislature, was sheriff of 
the county, and was much employed and honored as a magis- 
trate. 



52 APPEIS'DIX. 

Bis main business, nowever, was that of a fanner in tlic 
to^Yn of Wentworth, where he opened a new farm of several 
hundred acres, and trained his children to hahits of industry 
and the strictest economy. 

My father traced his descent directly from a hrotlier of the 
famous Eev. Hugh Peters, Avho immig-rated to tliis country 
from Eugland in 1635, and was pastor of the First Church in 
Salem, Massachusetts, hut returned to London, on Lehalf of 
the colony, in 1641, where, having warmly espoused the cause 
of Cromwell, he became obnoxious to the partisans of the 
Grown, and was beheaded on the restoration of Charles the 
Second in 1660, a martyr to the cause of civil and religious 
liberty. His memory had been much maligned in English 
history, but has been of late elfectually vindicated by Oarlyle 
in his ^*Life of Cromwell," and by our own countrymen, the 
late Joseph Felt, of Boston, and Eev. Mr. Upham, of Salem, 
one of his successors in the pastorate of the First Church. 

My mother was Mary Rogers, daughter of Xathaniel Ro- 
gers, Esq., of Leominster, Massachusetts, who claimed to be a 
lineal descendant from the martyr, John Rogers, burnt at 
Smithlield in 1555. 

My parents were married in 1782, and began together their 
new settlement in the hill country of New Hampshire, where 
they raised to maturity a family of five sons and four daugh- 
ters,* and remained until the death of my mother in 1819, at 

* The names of the family are the following : — 

John Kogers, born September 22d, 1783, a successful merchant m 
Troy, and afterwards in the City of New York, where he was several 
years an alderman, and was honored Avith other offices of public con- 
tidence and trust. He died April 24, 1858, aged seventy-four years. 

Phebe, born May 13th, 1785, wife of the late Hon. Josiah Fisk, of 
Keesville, Essex County, New York, died August 29th, 1860, aged 
seventy-live years. 



APPEIN^DIX. 53 

the age of sixty -three years. My father soon disposed of liis 
farm and returned to Lehanon, Connecticut, near his native 
place, where, at the age of sixty-six, he was married to the 
widow of the late Eev. John Gurley, of Lebanon, a friend of 
his youth, and an estimable lady. Among her children were 
the late Hon. Henry Gurley, member of Congress from Louis- 
iana; Mrs. Rev. Dr. Gillett, of Maine; Mrs. Prof. Hinkley, of 
Mississippi, and Rev. Ralph R. Gurley, late Secretary of the 
American Colonization Society, Washington, D. C. The last 
named is now the only survivor of the lamily. 

My father and step-mother, though united late in life, lived 
happily together nearly twenty years, honored and loved by 
the children of both their families ; and the former, surviving 
the latter about two years, died in the city of N'ew York, 
April, 1840, aged eighty -six years. He was buried at Hebron, 



Lydia, born February 25th, 1787, wife of the late Joseph Pcriy, 
Esq., of Keeue, New Hampshire, is still living. 

George Pierce, born May 30th, 1789, educated at West Poiut, a 
major in the United States Army, distinguished in the battle of Tip- 
pecanoe, and in the war of 1812, was twice wounded in battle, and 
died at Fort Gadsden, East Florida, November 28th, 1819, aged thirsty 
years. 

James Whitelaw, born June 20th, 1791, a successful merchant in 
Mobile and Blakely, Alabama, died December 1st, 1822, aged thirty- 
one years. 

Absalom, born September 19, 1793, the subject of this memorial. 

Mary, born October 2d, 1795, wife of the late Hon. Samuel Wilke- 
Bon, of Buffalo, New York, died August 25th, 1847, aged lifty-one 
years. 

William Rogers, twin brother of Mary, is still living in respectabil- 
ity and comfort at Bloomfield, New Jersey. 

Mira, born August 7th, 1797, wife of the late John W. Mason, of 
Saratoga, N. Y. formerly a merchant in Cincinnati and also in 
the city of New York, died October 26th, 1862, aged sixty-live years. 



54 APPENDIX. 

Connecticut, his native place, and was borne to his grave by 
aged men, companions of his childhood and youth. 

NOTE B, Page 11. 

"Which stir of martial life inspires." 

I cannot fail to recognize the influence of my father's mili- 
tary position and spirit upon my earlier impulses and aspira- 
tions. Nor was my experience singular at that early day in 
the history of American Independence. The spirit of the late 
Eevolution was then earnest and pervading, and was a lead- 
ing characteristic of the time and the country. Later genera- 
tions can hardly appreciate its power in forming the charac- 
ter of the young. Boys were encouraged to learn the military 
drill, and I well remember the pride and conscious manliness 
with which, as captain, at the age of eleven and twelve years, 
I trained a company of sixty boys, with wooden guns, myself 
decked with the trappings of my father's Continental uniform, 
suited to my size. With special impressions of our military 
importance, at a Fourth of July celebration, I formed them in 
"hollow square" with arms at rest, to receive the commen- 
dation of the regimental colonel in a special address. Such 
scenes were among the most inspiring and invigorating of my 
early years. 

NOTE C, Page 12. 

" Sad tidings — Washington is dead !" 

The scene here alluded to made an impression on my early 
susceptibilities which time has had no tendency to efface. It 
was almost literally as [ have stated it ; and child as I was, I 
was by no means unprepared to be deeply affected by the an- 



APPENDIX. 55 

nouncement. And the manner of it was dramatic and exciting. 
My mother was busy at her household cares, and myself and 
the younger children at hand, when my father came in with 
an expression of sorrow which I had not before witnessed, 
and said, with trembling voice and tearful eye: *'I bring 
heavy tidings ! — Washington is dead!" He then read the ac- 
count from a newspaper bordered with broad blackened lines 
of mourning. The effect was memorable. No death had yet 
occurred in my father's family, and this was the first that 
brought mourning to our home. The name of Washington 
was a household word, and a home sorrow was that produced 
by his death. My father, by virtue of his office, wore the 
prescribed badge of mourning thirty days, and the oft-re- 
peated expressions of grief and condolence with neighbors 
and friends impressed me with a sense of the great bereave- 
ment, which I could never forget. So will the death of Pres- 
ident Lincoln be remembered, and still more effectively, by the 
children of the present generation. 

NOTE D, Page 12. 

"The home, the farm, the school, the college." 

Until the age of sixteen years I was diligently trained to the 
labor of the farm, with not a few responsible cares, of which, 
with my brothers, I was held to a strict account, especially 
during the frequent absences of my father on public business. 
The advantages of this early farm education I have often had 
occasion to recognize, in my experience of the toils and cares 
of life. If, as has been said (and which to some extent is doubt- 
less true), man's intellectual and moral developments are in 
])roportion to the difiSculties of his physical existence, surely 
the young laborers on that hard Northeastern farm, summer 
and winter, enjoyed some special advantages for the early ac- 



56 APPEISTDIX. 

quisition of the qualities of a vigorous and persistent practical 
manhood. 

Add to the habits and qualities thus acquired, the moral 
training of my early home, and I have still higher grounds 
of grateful remembrance. With parents descended from a 
Puritan stock of martyred ancestors, and inheriting the same 
principles, the children could hardly fail to accept the teach- 
ings of the '' Xew England Primer," as peculiai'ly their own. 
Amid all the disadvantages of a new settlement, where pub- 
lic religious instruction was only occasional, and often incom- 
petent, it was every thing for us that our parents were well 
educated, wise, and judicious for our training at home. We 
were thus taught a strict observance of the Sabbath, with all 
the cardinal principles of a religious life, wdth a conscience 
towards God. And here I shall be pardoned for a tribute to 
my sainted mother, who, with a self-possession, dignity, and 
grace peculiarly her own, restrained us from the careless liv- 
ing of many around us, and, by her affectionate kindness and 
ever-consistent example, allured us away from the vices apt 
to prevail in communities comparatively rude and unorgan- 
ized. 

My education, to the age before named, was acquired 
wholly at tlie district school and at home. My attendance at 
school, after my earliest years, was confined to the winter 
months, and even tlien we were often taught by incompetent 
instructors. They were, however, the best we could procure 
in those days and in that new country ; and it was well for 
my father's family that his instructions at home sup])lied in a 
measure the deficiencies of our teachers at school. By this 
advantage Ave became, in many points of accurate knowledge, 
'' wiser than our teachers," and acquired a passable common- 
school education for that day. But our main business was 
work on the farm, and the care of stock, and of the house- 



APPENDIX. 57 

hold in winter, which often trenched upon our school hours ; 
and it may truly be said that whatever we gained at the dis- 
trict school was acquired by " the pursuit of knowledge 
under difficulties." It was, perhaps, all the more to be prized 
on that account, as we learned thus to value our acquisitions, 
and to embrace with eagerness better opportunities of im- 
provement at a riper age. 

In respect to my ultimate course of education, it may be 
observed, that it was a rule with my father to allow his boys, 
at the age of sixteen, to choose their course of life, and to seek 
the education required to answer its ends. I chose w^ith much 
earnestness a military life, and an education at West Point. 
An older brother, George P. Peters, afterwards a major in 
the United States army, had been educated there, and was 
now a young officer; and this, with my father's military 
position and spirit, had turned my aspirations in that direc- 
tion. My father accordingly made application to the proper 
authorities, and received assurances of my appointment as a 
cadet at the next occurring vacancy. In the mean time, I 
went to Troy, New York, and was employed as a clerk in the 
store of my oldest brother, then a merchant in that city. But 
there, in compliance with the earnest request of my mother, 
who on my leaving home presented me a Bible, I read the 
Scriptures daily, and under the zealous ministry of Elder 
Webb, a Baptist clergyman whose church I attended, my 
mind became deeply impressed with a sense of ill-desert and 
of religious obligation. After much conflict of spirit I was 
enabled, as I have ever believed, by the power of divine 
grace, to appropriate the promises of God ; and my purpose 
became settled to devote my life to His service. My im- 
pulses w^ere now strong to become a preacher of the gospel, 
and my previous choice of the art of war as my profession for 
life, became an object of entire disapproval and aversion. 



58 APPEIs^DIX. 

In this frame of mind T wrote to my father, unfolding to 
him my new views and purposes of life, and requesting him to 
withdraw his application for my admission to the Military 
School. The result was that I returned home in the autumn 
of 1810, and, after a preparatory course of ahout eighteen 
months, at "Moore's School," in Hanover, N. H., I entered 
Dartmouth College, in 1812. 

Meantime I had become a member of the Congregational 
church in Hanover, and pursued my studies with the single 
design of preparing for the Christian ministry. 

Graduating in 1816, I repaired immediately to the city of 
New York, where I was engaged for a short time as a teacher, 
but was enabled, by the aid of generous friends, to enter the 
Theological Seminary at Princeton, N. J., in the autumn of 
the same year. There, under venerable and beloved profes- 
sors, I pursued my studies until May, 1819, when I was li- 
censed by the Presbytery of JSTew York, and became a preacher 
of the gospel. My first sermon was preached in the old Brick 
Church, corner of ]S'assau and Beekman streets, to the con- 
gregation of the Rev. Dr. Spring. 

NOTE E, Page 13. 

*' With months of teaching — scholars aid." 

It is not uncommon for young men in our Northern col- 
leges, and even in their preparatory course, to resort to teach- 
ing as a means of at least a partial self-support ; and the dis- 
trict schools, in most country villages and farming communities, 
afford convenient fields for their youthful endeavors. In my 
early days this was, perhaps, more common than it is now. 
Most of my classmates in college were or had been occasional 
teachers ; and, before the establishment of Normal Schools, 
teachers were selected with much less care than at present. 



APPENDIX. 59 

My first experience in this line was when I was sixteen years 
old, and before I had even commenced my fitting for college. 
My qualifications, though poor enough, were probably equal 
to the usual standard in the neighborhood. But as a part of 
my pupils were full-grown young men, and I was much 
younger, and small at that, the school committee agreed 
with my father that they would insure the good conduct of 
the larger scholars, and I was to be responsible only for the 
government of those of my own size and smaller. 

This agreement was made known to the school, and was 
carried out in good faith by the committee. The older schol- 
ars were put upon their honor, and gave me no trouble. They 
seemed, indeed, to regard themselves as a corps de reserve^ to 
see that the authority of the young master should not be ef- 
fectually resisted, and I was soon convinced of their honor- 
able and manly loyalty to the government of the school. 

A case occurred which is at least amusing, and I may be 
pardoned for relating it. It shows at least that "some things 
can be done as well as others," even in the days of one's boy- 
hood. Joseph was just about my age and size, and Thomas, 
his cousin, was a six-footer, sitting on the back seat. Joseph 
<vvas required to give the inkstand to his younger brother, but 
refused. I told him it must be done — expostulated with him 
on the reasonableness of the demand, and the necessity of 
obedience in all good governments, assuring him also that I 
had the power to enforce my requirement, though I did not 
care to try it with my own hand, as his bodily power was, 
perhaps, nearly equal to my own, and a violent contest of 
strength before the school would be vn seemly and perhaps 
improper. But, I added, "Joseph, yoi) must obey!" He still 
refused. Whereupon I turned my far«- to the back seat and 
said, " Thomas, will you have the go ^dness to take the ink- 
stand from Joseph, and give it to his Vother?" No sooner 



60 APPENDIX. 

said than done. Thomas seized his cousin by the collar, raised 
him out of his seat, and, laying him on the floor, did as I had 
requested. Still holding the offender with a firm grasp, he 
turned to me and said: ^'Anything more, master?" I thanked 
him for his kindness, and, excusing him from any further ser- 
vice, I told Joseph he might go to his seat. I then addressed 
him and the rest of the school on the great impropriety of his 
conduct, and the necessity of obedience to all reasonable 
commands. 

The result was that Joseph's father chastised him at home 
for his disobedience, and sent him to school the next day with 
an humble confession of his wrong. Thus was settled, by 
proxy, the power of my authority, and the government of the 
school went on the rest of the winter with entire propriety 
and success. 

After this, I taught school every winter during my prepara- 
tory and college course, and with growing satisfaction and 
success as my qualifications were increased. The practical 
experience thus attained, and the accuracy acquired in many 
of the elementary branches of knowledge, I have ever re- 
garded as a highly valuable part of my education. 

NOTE F, Page 15. 
^'Then came the years of pastoral care." 

After my licensure as a preacher of the gospel, in May, 1819, 
T was employed as a Home Missionary a few months, by the 
Synod of Albany, and labored within its bounds. My field 
was the then destitue portions of Washington and Warren 
counties, in the State of New York, including Fort Edward, 
Sandy Hill, Glenn's Falls, Fort Ann, and Whitehall, in each 
of which I made a brief trial of my ministry, and not, I trust, 
without some good results. Faithful and prosperous churches 



ADPENDIX. 61 

have since been gathered in those places, and possibly some 
^' lively stones '' were laid near their foundations by my instru- 
raentality. Grateful memories still linger of the efforts and 
successes of those weeks of missionary labor. 

Early in August of the same year I was invited to the First 
Church in Bennington, Vt., as a stated supply during the ab- 
sence of its pastor, Avho had already resigned its charge, with 
the expectation of a formal dismission after a few months. 
The difficulties and responsibilities of the position were soon 
seen to be great. Religion was comparatively stagnant and 
unprogressiv^e, and the church and society were sadly riven by 
political and other parties. Yet the field was no less iuj port- 
ant than difficult. Venerable names were there, and a few 
remained whose piety had not yet yielded to the prevailing 
decay. Excellent materials existed for a substantial reform. 
But such a result seemed to me impossible, without a great 
sacrifice to effect it, and I was impressed with the feeling that 
that sacrifice must be my own. Beautiful, therefore, and 
tempting as was the field to my youthfiil vision, and cordial 
and friendly as were the people (for it was apparent that my 
labors were more than acceptable, and large audiences at- 
tended my preaching), I deliberately formed the purpose to 
sacrifice all my popularity there on the altar of duty, to ac- 
complish the desired reform. I had then no thought that by 
thus losing my life I should gain it, even on the very field where 
the sacrifice w^as about to be made. This purpose I zealously 
pursued, with no other expectation than that I might thus, by 
Divine grace, prepare that field for the comfortable settlement 
and continued usefulness of some other minister, while I 
would trust God for a place in some other part of his vine- 
yard. 

Great then was my surprise when, after a few months, the 
way being prepared, I received the unanimous call of the 



62 APPEISTDIX. 

church and society to become their pcistor. I had learned a 
lesson. I went to Bennington to learn it ; and the instructions 
of it have sustained me in the severest trials and conflicts of 
life. That lesson is the safety of assuming all the responsi- 
bilities of manifest duty, and of trusting God for results. 

I was ordained and installed pastor of the church in Ben- 
nington, July 5th, 1820. It was then the only church of any 
denomination in a township containing a population of more 
than two thousand, all of whose spiritual wants claimed my 
attention and care. Meantime I had been married, and my 
young wife entered with me into all the cares of the flock. 
Ardent was the first love of our ministry to the people Avho 
had thus invited ns to their service; and still it lingers in 
pleasant memories, while we have the best reason to know that 
our affection was largely and warmly returned. Trials, it is 
true, were appointed us on that field. Immoralities were re- 
buked and measures of reform suggested, which met with 
violent and persistent opposition. But the church remained 
united in nobly resisting its assaults, and sustaining the minis- 
try of the truth. And the grace of God was conspicuous in 
a great awakening, by which, within less than six months 
from the date of my ordination, thirty-three persons were 
added to the church, of wiiom twenty-four were recent con- 
verts. It is, indeed, among the most grateful of my recollec- 
tions, that, during my first pastorate, I was never long with- 
out the consciousness that my ministry was owned and blessed 
of God. 

At the close of my labors in Bennington, there were on 
record seventy-one names added to the list of church-mem- 
bers in five years and five months, fifty-four of whom were 
liopefuUy converted under my ministry. In addition to these 
direct results. Sabbath schools had been instituted and kept 
in successful operation, the cause of temperance had been 



APPENDIX. 6;i 

advanced, and a general improvement of morals was visible ; 
and seed had been sown which was destined to germinate and 
bear fruit in after years. 

Such were the field and tlie prospects from which I was 
invited to engage in the organization and service of the Amer- 
ican Home Missionary Society. My dismission took place, 
against the remonstrance of the church, December 14th, 1825. 
Since that date, five successive pastors have occupied the pul- 
pit of that church, and have been more or less blessed in their 
labors. The last of my worthy successors there. Rev. Isaac 
Jennings, after the lapse of nearly forty years, writes me the 
following, under date of December 1st, 1863, which I may be 
pardoned for copying here : — 

'^ This, until after the close of your pastorate, was the only 
church in the town, and, as the Dismissing Council say in 
their recorded paper, ' a rich and strong one.' You was the 
only young licentiate who had been at the same time ordained 
and installed as pastor of this church. The circumstances 
were peculiar, and the style of your discourses attracted the 
lovers of refined taste in th-e pulpit, while your fearlessness in 
preaching the truth and fidelity in rebuking immorality se- 
cured for you, to a remarkable degree, the support of such as 
valued sound doctrine and seiious piety. Few now are left 
of those who so nobly sustained you in th-e labors of that ear- 
nest and prosperous youthful pastorate. Some sainted ones 
of the number have, since my oeeupancy of this field, ascended 
to their heavenly reward. But even to this day, I hear, from 
warm admirers of your preaching and labors here, the regret 
expressed — your own judgment at the time and that of the 
Council notwithstanding — that you persisted in the deter- 
mination to leave the preaching of the Gospel as a pastor, 
even though it were for a post so important and interesting as 
that of secretary to the American Hume Missionary Society.'' 



64 APPENDIX. 

I cannot close my reminiscences of the church in Benning- 
ton, without recurring to a scene of surpassing interest, in 
which I was called to participate some live years after my 
dismission from its pastoral care. My immediate successor, 
the late Eev. Daniel A. Clark, had already closed his ministry 
there, and the church was without a pastor. Bat where his 
ministers had planted and watered, God was giving the increase. 
It was that wonderful year of the right hand of the Most 
High in many of our churches, 1831. In connection Avith the 
preaching of Rev. E. N. Kirk, then of Albany, and others who 
had temporarily supplied the pulpit, a great revival of religion 
had been wrought. A large number of the hopefully con- 
verted had been examined and accepted, and were awaiting a 
formal admission to the Church at the next Communion day, 
September 4th. I was present by invitation, preached on the 
occasion, presided at the administration of the Lord's Supper, 
and admitted one hundred and thirty-one persons, on confes- 
sion of their faith, to their first communion at the Lord's 
table! Their ages ranged from thirteen to seventy years, and 
seventy-six of the number, not having been baptized in in- 
fancy, received the sacrament of baptism. 

To me, and to the immense audience assembled, the occa- 
sion Avas inexpressibly solemn, joyful, and inspiring. We 
were not strangers to each other. They Avere my own dear 
people, Avhom I had cherished with the ardor of the first 
love of a Christian minister — their names and faces familiar. 
There were the children I had left in the Sabbath school, noAv 
arisen to maturer years. There, too, Avere the last young 
couple I had united in marriage before leaving my pastorate, 
and others, Avith Avhom and for Avhom I had labored and 
prayed, apparently almost in vain; and noAv, to see so many 
of them ''sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints'' — 



APPENDIX. 65 

'' My rapture soemed a pleasing dream, 
The grace appeared so great." 

The baptismal service alone, for seventy-six persons in snc- 
cession, which was performed wholly by myself, occnpied all 
of two hours. Yet this with the other protracted exercises 
produced no weariness in the congregation. A wakeful, ear- 
nest attention and a tearful interest pervaded the assembly, 
and indicated a Divine presence above and around us. 

My text was Isaiah Ix. 8 : '' Who are these tliat Hy as a 
cloud, and as the doves to their windows f' Applying these 
Avords to the vision be/ore us, and to the clustei'ing signs of 
the times of that day, we seemed indeed to be standing at 
'^ tlie beginning of the end," when, we are assured, the Gen- 
tiles^ shall come to this light, and kings to the brightness of 
its rising. And we heard, as it were, the voice of the Lord 
of Hosts to ourselves: '^ Violence shall no more be heard in 
thy land, w^asting nor destruction within thy borders ; but 
thou shalt call thy Avails salvation, and thy gates praise. Thy 
people also shall be all righteous; they shall inherit the land 
forever, the branch of my planting, the work of my hands, 
that I may be glorified." The rapt vision of our faith, which 
appropriated these promises, was doubtless true; and we 
bless God for the gracious visitation which thus impressed 
it upon our belief. The memory of it is precious in old age, 
as it ever has been through all the changes that have since 
passed upon the nation. :N'or do we admit a doubt that even 
the baptism of blood through Avhich we are now passing Avill 
accelerate its accomplishment. 

NOTE G, Page 16. 
*'To spread the health of truth and grace." 

TJie American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Mis- 
sions, and the American Bible, Tract, and Education Societies, 



66 APPEXDIX. 

were organized during my preparatory and college conrse, or 
soon after. I was familiar ^vitll the spirit in which they had 
their origin, and pondered deeply the responsibilities and 
claims of the foreign missionary work. My ministry was 
commenced under impulses awakened by these purely philan- 
thropic and unsectarian institutions, and was animated by the 
faith and hope in which they were commenced and sustained. 

XOTE H, Page 1G. 
" Came years of preparatiou vast." 

Late in the autumn of 1825, I accepted the call of the 
''United Domestic Missionary Society" to become its secre- 
tary, and as such to aid in the formation of the ''American 
Home Missionary Society," towards which preliminary meas- 
ures had already been taken. The latter society Avas instituted 
in May, 1826, and I was appointed its first corresponding 
secretary, which office I held, by successive elections, until 
1837 inclusive. During that time I was the principal agent 
of the Society in organizing and compacting its system, and 
extending its arrangements to combine, in one united ettbrt 
and agency, all denominations of evangelical Christians who 
could be persuaded thus to unite, irrespective of their sectarian 
peculiarities, in a vigorous and persistent national endeavor 
to supply all the Avaste places of the land with a faithful and 
competent ministry of the Gospel. To what extent and with 
Avhat spirit this purpose was accomplished, the published cor- 
respondence of the Society, and the first twelve of its annual 
reports, all of Avhich were written by my own hand, will suffi- 
ciently indicate. I need only add here, that very great results 
were achieved in the furtherance of the Gospel. I regard 
tiiose tw^elve years of zealous and incessant labor as quite the 
most useful and etfective of my life. 

1 resigned my office as secretary of the Home Missionary 



APPENDIX. (J7 

Society, in the autumn of 1837; not from any misgiving in 
respect to the ^^ voluntary principle'' of its organization, hut 
mainly on account of a partial failure of my vocal organs, 
which requu'ed rest from the public speaking and exposure 
demanded by the duties of that office. I, however, rcuiained 
a member of the executive committee until 1844, when I 
accepted a pastoral charge too remote to allow my attendance 
at its meetings, and I reluctantly withdrew from a participa- 
tion of its weekly and almost daily councils. The best ener- 
gies of my life had been devoted to its service; and while I 
remember the catholic unity in which it had its origin and 
aim, it is to me a mystery unfathomable that any of the 
Christian denominations, who praised it at first, and seemed 
fully to comprehend its noble purpose, have since abandoned 
so grand a principle of co-operative energy for the upbuilding 
of the kingdom of Christ, and, in its place, have subsidized 
even the sacred work of missions to the perpetuation and 
spread of their respective sectarian peculiarities. 

NOTE I, Page 16. 

" Of conflict years, and years of peace."'' 

Conscious as I ever have been, of a disposition to live peace- 
ably with all men, and perhaps uncommonly sensitive to the 
good opinion of others, it has often appeared strange to me that 
I have met so frequent occasions of conflict and controversy. 
These conflicts, I can truly say, have never been sought l>y 
me. On the contrary, I have ever shrunk from their respon- 
sibilities, and would gladly have avoided them. But they 
seemed at the time to be forced upon me by principles and 
positions which it was my duty to maintain and defend. 
Such were the conflicts of my early ministry at l^ennington, 
Avhere I learned the lesson before named in these notes. 



68 APPEXDIX. 

Such, too, in an eminent degree, were 7ny advocacy of the 
principles and operations of vohmtary societies against the 
assaults of their opposers, and my defence of the Rev. Albert 
Barnes, in the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church. 

The necessity of similar conflicts I noAV regard as often un- 
avoidable in the life of every earnest man, who is called to 
bear a leading part in the accomplishment of great things for 
the kingdom of Christ. I have therefore no reason to regret 
that such conflicts have fallen to my lot. Whatever of per- 
sonal sacrifice they may have involved, has been more than 
repaid by the consciousness of high resolves of duty, and of 
fealty to Him who judgeth righteously. To Him also I have 
learned to look for the forgiveness of whatever may have been 
wrong in the spirit of my advocacy, even of a good cause, and 
patiently to wait for the vindication of motives and purposes, 
whicli even Christian men, of opposing opinions, are often slow 
to recognize. 

But prominent as these controversies may have appeared, 
because occurring in the high places of a great denominational 
church, tliey really absorbed but a very small part of my min- 
isterial life. Most of my labors in two pastorates of about 
fifteen years, and in tlie missionary service, were labors of 
love, peaceful and happy, because in conflict only with the 
darkness of the world, which the gospel everywhere en- 
counters. The indirect results of my labors in the cause of 
missions Avere largely rei)orted in the missionary publications 
of tlie day, but can never be estimated. Direct and blessed 
efl^ects, however, were often apparent. In the twelve years 
of my agency for the A. IT. M. S., I travelled in nearly all of 
the United States and Territories, as they then were, a dis- 
tance of, perhaps, three time.^> the circumference of the globe, 
preached in cliurcbes of diflTerent denominations, at Presby- 
terian canip-nieetings in .the AVest, and on many interesting 



APPENDIX. 69 

occasions, at the the meetings of Presbyteries, Synods, Asso- 
ciations, and other public bodies. On many of tliese occasions, 
the Divine presence was manifest in gracious awakenings and 
conversions. 

It is truly grateful to be reminded, at this late day, that 
such scenes still live in the memory of others. A recent 
letter from my friend, the Eev. Dr. I3outon, of Concord, New 
Hampshire, with whom I spent a few days in 1831, recounts 
such a scene, and closes with this warm-hearted assurance : — 
'' I have often thanked the Lord, brother, for the service you 
rendered on that glorious occasion. As the fruit of that blessed 
revival, one hundred and one souls were added to this church.'' 

Similar acknowledgments occasionally reach me from otlier 
and distant parts of the vineyard, and I bless God that my 
name is still associated with some, at least, of the precious 
memories of many churches. Few, however, remain of the 
pastors and people with whom, so long ago, 1 spent those 
brief and pleasant sojourns in labors of love. 

NOTE J, Page 17. 

" Then years of editorial toil/' 

As secretary of the American Home Missionary Society, I 
commenced and edited the Home Missionary and Pastor s 
Journals from 1827 to 1837, assisted by my beloved associate 
secretary, the late Pvev. Charles Hall, D.D. After tins, having 
resigned my office as secretary, I assumed the editorial charge 
of Tlie American Biblical Repository (a religious quarterly), 
beginning with January, 1838, and continued it four and 
a half years, aided successively by Pwev. S. B. Treat, now one 
of the secretaries of the A. B. C. F. M., and Prof, J. II. Agnew. 
Meantime, in January, 1841, I commenced tlie i)ublication of 
the American Eclectic (bi-monthly), the plan of v^hich was 



70 APPENDIX. 

originated by myself. Of this also I had the leading editorial 
charge, aided as above, until May, 1842, when both the 
Eclectic and the Eejjository passed into the hands of Prof. 
Agnew. Here my editorial labors were suspened, until, after 
my pastorate at Williamstown, January, 1856, I commenced 
The American Journal of Education and College Eevieiv^ of 
which I was the principal editor. But, though welcomed and 
approved by the leading patrons of education, it was not well 
sustained, and, after a nseful continuance of fourteen months, 
failed by the lack of pecuniary support. 

NOTE K, Page 17. 

'"Twas mine to guide another flock." 

I relinquished my editorial labors in 1842, to engage in an 
agency for the '-Union Theological Seminary of the City of 
New York," of which I was one of the original projectors, 
and a director, and served it for about two years, as its prin- 
cipal agent for the collection of funds. Meantime I was ap- 
pointed professor of ''Homiletics and Pastoral Theology " in 
that institution; but in' 1844, I resigned both my professor- 
ship and agency, and on the 20th of November of that 
year was installed pastor of the '* First Church of Christ," in 
AVilliauistown, Massachusetts. My congregation there was 
composed of a large portion of the peo})le of the town, 
and the faculty and students of Williams College, Avho, by 
a happy arrangement at that time, worshipped together, 
the president of the college, in term-time, bearing a stipu- 
lated part in the supply of the pulpit. Few pastors are 
favored Avith audiences so intellectual and appreciative ; and 
the religious sympathies of both the college and the people 
were in a high degree stimulating and encouraging to the 
best endeavors of a faithful minister. Pleasant indeed to 



APPENDIX. 71 

myself and family, were most of the associations of that pas- 
torate ; and it is grateful to record, that it was not unattended 
with spiritual benefits to the people. During my active dis- 
charge of its duties (about eight years), several special 
awakenings were enjoyed, and one hundred and five members 
were added to the church, of whom seventy-five were re- 
ceived on profession of their faith. In addition to these, not 
a few united with the College Church, whose young men I 
ever regarded as among the most interesting, and perliaps the 
most interested, of my hearers. 

In 1852, I asked a temporary release from my pastoral 
cliarge, to engage in the service of the college, of whicli I 
was a trustee, and whose condition required an efi'ort to in- 
crease its funds. In this service I continued about two years, 
only occasionally preaching at home, until 1854, when I re- 
signed my pastorate. My resignation, however, was not 
immediately accepted, and my formal dismission did not occur 
till September 4th, 1857. 

I was sixty-one years old when I asked to resign my pas- 
toral charge, and was led to this measure by an apprehended 
approaching unfitness for its demands, Avhich was, perhaps, 
more sensitively felt by myself than intelligently perceived 
by others. My vocal utterances, on account of an afifectiou 
of my throat, had become at times embarrassing, and the 
scrvcenerh paralysis had deprived my right hand of its cun- 
ning. The nerves of the hand especially exercised in writing 
had, by long use, become worn out and paralyzed, and I was 
obliged to do all my writing with the left hand, and with 
much labor and fatigue. These infirmities and other indica- 
tions of advancing age were upon me, and I could not divest 
myself of the impression that I was already an old man, and 
ouglit to retire from the responsibilities of a position so 
important, and to the duties of which I had so much reason 



72 APPENDIX. 

to apprehend inv waiiinp^ powers wonld soon become inade- 
quate. Yet my general health was good, and I was still com- 
forted with the prospect of perhaps a few years of usefulness 
in more miscellaneous employments. In this I have not been 
disappointed, l^or have I been reluctant to embrace oppor- 
tunities of useful em])loyment. Besides editing the College 
Bevieic^ as before stated, I have written for other periodicals 
and papers, have preached occasionally in and about Xew 
York, and supplied pulpits for some weeks and months, in 
succession, in Morristown, Xew Jersey, Otisville, Xew York, 
and Goshen, Connecticut. I also labored several months in 
1857, in the service of "The American and Foreign Christian 
Union;'' and in 1860-61. I wrote, with my left hand, and 
with great labor and care, a volume to be entitled, Co-ojJera- 
tire Christianity: The Kingdom of Christ in Contrast icith, 
Denominational Churches. This volume would have been 
])ublished in 1861, but for the bombardment of Fort Sumter, 
and the consequent great war of the Union. I still cherish 
the hope of giving it to the public. In these and other en- 
gagements I have been diligently employed, and can truly 
add that I have suffered no idle day. 

NOTE L, Page 18. 

" The years of wedded life and love." 

My wife, Harriet Hinkly Hatch, was a daughter of the late 
Major Reuben Hatch, of Norwich, Vermont. We were mar- 
ried October 25th, 1819, and, at the date of this memorial, 
had lived a wedded life of nearly forty-four years, to which 
two years have since been added, crowned with the goodness 
of God. Even in bereavement we have learned to rejoice, 
because we believe in the Resurrection and the Life. 



APPENDIX. 73 

NOTE M, Page 18. 
'* Sweet infants raised from earthly love.'* 

The children here referred to are Horace Hatch, born in 
Bennington, Vermont, November 4th, 1825 — died September 
15th, 1827, aged twenty-two months and eleven days; Fran- 
ces Margaretta, born in New York, March 6th, 1831 — died 
May 4th, 1832, aged thirteen months and twenty-nine days. 

Our surviving children are George Absalom, a physician in 
New York, born in Bennington, Vermont, May 12th, 1821 ; 
Harriet Adeline, wife of Rev. William Clift, now of New 
York, also born in Bennington, June 13th, 1823; Edward 
Pay son, late a captain in the United States Volunteer ser- 
vice, born in New York, October 9th, 1828; Mary Elizabeth, 
wife of Albert S. Ward, of New York, born in New York, May 
13th, 1835 : James Hugh, of New York, born in the same city, 
November 13 th, 1837. 

Death of Mks. Mary Euzabeth Ward. 

Mary Elizabeth, our youngest daughter, of precious memory 
in the family and among a loving circle of youthful friends, 
died in New York, January 2d, 1864, aged twenty-eight years, 
seven months, and tw^enty days. The touching scenes of her 
death, and the greatness of our disappointment and bereave- 
ment, will be sufficiently indicated by the following papers. 
The address of Dr. Thompson to her funeral was reported at 
tlie time with a view to its early publication; but has been 
preserved as a fitting conclusion to this commemorative vol- 
ume. She w^as a beloved member of his church ; and no read- 
er, it is presumed, will fail to be interested in this affecting 
(ribute to her memory. 
4 



f74 APPENDIX. 



Address of the Rey. Joseph P. Thompson, D. D., Pastoi^ 
OF THE *' Broadway Tabernacle Church," New York, 
AT the Funeral of Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Ward, Janu- 
ary oth, 1864. 

This scene, my friends, is one of memorable and impressive 
realities. Death is here as a reality. For a whole generation, 
the family in which she who lies before us was born and nur- 
tured has been unvisited by Death. Yes, it is more than 
thirty years since an infant sister preceded her to tlie skies. 
But there can be no permanent exemption; and Death has 
come to them once more as a reality. The sense of bereave- 
ment is a reality — the pain of loss, the anguish of parting, 
a reality. The severance of fondest loves, the disappointment 
of dearest hopes, the sudden extinction of the light and joy of 
the dwelling, these all are realities. Yet there are other real- 
ities, which these serve to make more vivid and palpable. 

If death is a reality, so is the soul a reality that cannot die. 
As we look upon her face, recalling all that was so bright and 
beautiful in her life, we feel, we hiow^ that she is not dead. 
God is a reality ; Christ and his salvation, in which she trust- 
ed, are realities; the future state is a reality; heaven is a 
reality, whose light scatters even the gloom of this hour. 
And were it not for these grand and glorious realities, I could 
liot bear so much as to enumerate those other realities that 
press so heavily upon us. 

There are two theories concerning death, which may fitly 
be tested by our emotions and our needs at such a time as this. 
The one makes death a mere process of nature, coming in the 
due course of things, by inexorable physical law, alike to man 
and to the brute creation. By this theory, God, if there be a 
God, dwells at an infinite remove from us, not caring what 



APPENDIX. 75 

befalls ns, or leaving ns to the fixed mechanism of natural laws 
and forces. We are here, the insects of a day, and when our 
natural limit expires, we cease to he. Now, whatever our 
speculations in this matter may have been, I ask : Can we be- 
lieve that theory here to-day? Can w^e fall hack upon it to 
satisfy our own hearts? Can we bring it as our tribute to the 
memory of her we have so dearly loved? Will self-respect, 
M'ill a regard for the mind and heart that made her so bright 
and loving and joyous in our circle, suffer us to stand beside 
her yet unclosed coffin, and say, ''This is Nature's law," and 
say no more? The heart needs sympathy, not law. The 
heart needs consolation, but a law of nature yields no conso- 
lation. The heart would offer respect and affection to her 
memory, and feels it an indignity to speak of her as of the 
brutes that perish. By all the strength of affection, by all the 
sincerity and earnestness of grief, by all the homage of esteem 
for what was pure and lovely, by all the memories of cher- 
ished years, the heart, fitly instructing the reason, protests 
against such a view of death. 

There is, then, another view of death, w-hich, equally ac- 
cepting the operation of natural laws, regards these as appoint- 
ed, directed, and applied by a living and loving Father, whose 
wise arrangement, consulting the highest good of both the 
dying and the living, determines the time and circumstances 
to each, of that event which is the common lot of all. This 
theory presents us not cold, inexorable law, but love, guiding 
the laws which itself has ordained, and which are wnse, and 
necessary, and good. In such a view^ of death, there is a place 
for sympathy; and, like as a father pi tieth his children, so the 
Lord doth pity us. In such a view there is a place for conso- 
lation, and Jesus, w^ho wept for Lazarus, comes again, the Man 
of sorrows, to mingle His tears with ours. In such a view 



76 APPENDIX. 

there is a place for hope, through Jesus, the risen Lord, tlie 
resurrection and the life. 

This was the faith that cheered and animated her daily life, 
and that gave such holy serenity in her death. Her keen and 
vigorous mind, her disciplined understanding, did not grasp 
an illusion, and make this her hope in life and her comfort and 
rejoicing in the last hour. The faith in which she lived and 
died took hold upon a reality. 

In this faith she was consecrated in her infancy, and was 
trained in a household where religion w^as every thing, and 
the atmosphere was that of an intelligent and cheerful piety. 
Early in life she came to recognize and accept it as her own. 
The native vivacity of her disposition, the joyousness of her 
spirit, borrowed no gloom from her piety. On the contrary, 
religion but added to her joys, refining, elevating, enriching 
all. How readily she turned the buoyancy of her nature into 
the offices of w^ifely affection and maternal love! How her 
taste for flow'ers, w^orthily represented by these offerings of 
love, beautified the home where she was ever the choicest 
presence ! I count her among the most cheerful Christians I 
have ever known — a soul thorough in its experiences, deep 
and sincere in its communion Avith God, but sparkling with 
the gush and overflow of her affections and her joys. AVhat- 
ever cares and burdens she carried in secret to the Master, 
for us her conversation was always lively, her manner always 
cheerful, and, often, when her body w^as tortured with pain, 
her spirit maintained its accustomed serenity and enlivened 
those about her. 

Death brought her no surprise. Though coming suddenly 
and sharply, and at the festive time of the opening year, it 
wrung from her no expression of alarm, of disappointment, or 
regret. What messages of wisdom and affection she gave to 
those about her— her grateful love to aged parents, her ten- 



APPENDIX. 4 i 

der counsels and sacred trusts to lier nearest earthly friend, 
and her charges for the children to be brought up in the faith 
of their mother's God ! 

What remains for us, my friends, but that we gain and hold 
the like precious faith — that, renouncing sin, we walk in the 
faith and the love of the same Saviour? 

Wlien a little child, scarce three years old, she was so bright 
and winning in her childish glee, that a stranger, who saw her 
on a journey, was moved to adopt her as his own; and ap- 
proached her parents with the most delicate and liberal offers, 
engaging to educate her suitably and to settle upon her his 
entire property. Her parents, of course, while gratified by 
the compliment, could but smile at the proposal. But pres- 
ently, as she budded into a higher consciousness, another 
came, and sought to adopt her as his own, saying: ''Let her 
be mine, and I will enrich lier with all my gifts, and name her 
with my name ; but she must love me more than father or 
mother, or all the world beside.'' And now her parents 
could not, would not, say Him nay, for already they had given 
her to Him, in the covenant of baptism; and so. He adopted 
her for His child, clothed and enriched her with all the graces 
of His spirit, and, when His time came. He took her, redeemed 
not with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the 
precious blood of Christ, to enjoy the fulness of the inheritance 
pledged in His adopting love. And so it but remains for us. 
joined to the same family, redeemed by the same blood, to 
wait in turn our call to follow her to the same home. 



78 APPENDIX. 



In Memoriam.* 

The world above, the heavenly world sublime, 
Afar away beyond the years of time — 
The Lamb, the light thereof — has claimM its own ; 
And, reaping there what she on earth had sown, 
An angel-daughter treads the shining shore, 
Where mortals here are mortals never more. 

Born here to life, here taught by faith to fly — 
How brief her pupilage ! born here to die ! 
We leanM our hoary age upon her youth. 
And fondly thought her faithfuhiess and truth, 
Her filial kindness, in our joys and tears, 
AVould far outlast our own declining years. 
Our yearning love she so repaid ; but soon, 
Alas ! a morning sun went down at noon — 
Cold Winter's ground, with *^dust to dust," her bed- 
And Mary dear, young, beautiful, was dead I 

Sad tears of love we shed — the parting hours — 
And deck'd our dead with blooming emblem-flowers- 
Though well we knew 'twas only death that died; 
Life, living still, redeem'd and sanctified. 
On pinions new — by grace prepared — and bright, 
Left many mourners here, and wing'd its flight. 

For not alone a daughter, Mary stood — 
A sister dear, beloved, gifted, good — 



* These lines appeared in the "New York Evangelist,'' near the time of their date . 



APPENDIX. 79 

A wedded wife, and — rich the mother^s joy- 
Two sweet loving girls and her baby boy 
Drew forth her soul, in time, and toil, and care, 
To train them aright, and her daily prayer 
Attested the strength of her faithful love, 
Her earnest believing of things above. 
Yet genial and buoyant her tone of mind, 
Sportive her spirit, and joyous, and kind, 
She wielded a power but rarely attained, 
To hold the true friends affection had gained. 



So budded and blossom'd her life below — 
As fitted to stay, as ready to go. 
I^or blossoms alone the crown of her bearing, 
Kipe fruit, and hopeful, in clusters appearing; 
Nor, saw we how great was her gain to die. 
Ever wishing her with us, ever nigh ; 
And seemhl our loss much more than all her gain, 
When we wept at her bed of death and pain ; 
Xor parents, nor lover, children, nor peers 
Could stay her departure, with grief and tears. 

As mourners now we " go about the street," 
And ev'ry youthful, earnest face we meet, 
Henews our memVy of our loved one gone, 
Iler work of one score years and eight adone. 
And places that knew her so late, of yore. 
But shall know her again, ah, never more! 

We think of all she was to us, on earth, 
Back from her grave to the day of her birth, 



80 APPENDIX. 

And what, to ns, she will be soon, above, 
When united again, in realms of love ; 
And hail the life, begun and rising thus, 
As e'er a priceless boon to ours and us. 
We see it now, a whole forevermore — 
Give thanks for the gift, the Giver adore. 
And praise Him here, amid our grief and tears, 
For the life unmeasured by days and years. 

A life ! a joy ! a death ! then deathless life ! 
No sorrow there, nor sickness, sin, or strife ! 
So lives the ransom'd soul, in bliss supreme, 
'Mid songs of gladness, saving grace the theme ! 

Be silent, then, our grief, nor e'er complain, 
That death is made tlie way that life to gain. 
Foredating our part in those heavenly lays. 
Be steadfast our faith, until, ending our days, 
W^e rise to that life, with our daughter dear, 
Rise up with all the good and faithful here. 
To live with them, where partings never come. 
Of spirit-life, the realm, the bliss, the home. 

A. 

New York, August^ 1864. 



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